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Oh, she was as slick as okra slime, this beloved wife of his. Basically honest, yes, but also sneaky and manipulative. Devious, yet without sliding completely into the netherworld of deceitfulness.
Retrieving the letter from the corner where he’d thrown it, Barry pulled apart the tightly wadded ball of paper. Only his Gertie, infamous writer and sly minx that she was, could have penned such a heartfelt, penitent, “pseudo” apology, without admitting any guilt, without true repentance and without actually asking forgiveness.
Smoothing the wrinkles out, and hoping, in spite of his aggravation with her excessively flowery writing, to proceed past the second paragraph this time, he began to read her note for the fourth time.
To the dearest and most precious treasure in my life –
Well, he thought, that one line, at least, was completely truthful. She did love him madly, of that he was certain. He read on.
Our little vignette from last night was terribly upsetting for me, as I’m sure it was for you. Only a love as grand as ours could suffer such misery from the most minute of incidents.
Hah! It may have been minute to her, but what about his feelings on the matter? She merely wanted to downplay the significance of the whole episode, since it was clearly her fault.
To run out of your favorite condiment, at the precise moment when you most wanted it, must have been a stomach-wrenching frustration and a taste-bud disappointment of collosal proportion.
You’re darn right it was! And who, I ask you, was supposed to make sure we had plenty of Blue Plate Mayonnaise on hand?
I can fully understand those emotions, for it is by the rendering of the written expression of man’s passions that I wend my way through this mortal coil.
Un-huh, and that’s exactly why we keep running out of things around here. Your head is always up in the clouds, floating around with alliteration and punctuation, instead of taking care of our real world needs, like toilet paper and eggs, for instance. Still haven’t seen anything like an apology here.
And now he reached the part he had not had the fortitude to read before:
I know ( for you have told me countless times, my love), how much you admire my lustrous hair. But I have never divulged to you the womanly devices and formulas I employ to enhance my allure. I hesitate to reveal even one of my secrets, but to secure your love, even that which I hold most sacred and private I will disclose. It was I who used the last of the mayo, my sweet, for it has certain beautifying properties which cannot be duplicated by other products.
Yuck! How could she stand to eat all of that mayonnaise? By itself!
Oh, wait.
Maybe she … put it on her hair?
Gross and yuck again.
Still, in a way, she was doing it for him.
Hmm. Well, let’s see what else she has to say. Probably not an apology.
After all, are not misunderstandings and disagreements and disillusionments an inevitable, though unpleasant, part of our lives? My darling, I long for the renewal of our blissful intimacy. Shall we not put all this behind us, and once again spend our nights wrapped in each other’s arms?
Awwww, shucks. Blissful intimacy, huh? Wrapped in each other’s arms, she said. That certainly held more appeal than the lumpy couch he slept on last night. Was he ever to stand a chance against those seductive words of hers, when she insisted on being so infuriatingly adorable? And after all, was a bona fide apology really all that important?
Where was his Gertie anyway? He thought he might like to go whisper some sweet sentiments of carnal condiments in her ear.
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